She loved him because he had brought her back to life. She had been like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and he had drawn her out and shown her that she was a butterfly.
But then again, maybe bad things happen because it’s the only way we can keep remembering what good is supposed to look like.
When I look at my life and its secret colours, I feel like bursting into tears.
When I press my hand to my chest, it is your chest.